Asphyxiation
by music-loving-penguin
Summary: Scotland Yard turn to Sherlock when a young couple are murdered in their sleep and their are no real leads. In the process of solving the case will Sherlock find love or will he be destroyed. Sherlock x OC eventually. Rating for later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the storyline**

**This is my first fic that I've been brave enough to submit so reviews would be greatly appreciated :D**

Dr. John Watson was sitting at his laptop after completing his most recent blog. He sighed; Sherlock was still not enamored with the idea. His scathing criticism and sarcastic jibes were inevitable. He rubbed the back of his hand over his tired eyes before walking away from his laptop into the cluttered kitchen. He shook his heads at his flat mates latest experiments before putting the kettle on to make tea. He heard the front door open and light footsteps begin to climb the stairs.

'John! John, where are you?' Sherlock cried as he burst through the door to the kitchen. His eyes fell on John, 'Get your coat,' he demanded.

'Why, what's happened now?'

'I'll explain in the cab, it's waiting downstairs. Lestrade text me this morning, I've already had a look at the crime scene. Get your coat John, come on!' Sherlock shouted as he turned and walked out to the cab.

John stood still for a moment thinking. He briefly contemplated refusing to follow and letting Sherlock go on alone but his need for excitement and danger was overpowering. Sighing dramatically, overplaying the disgruntled flat mate for effect he grabbed his coat and followed his tall curly haired companion down the stairs into the cab.

'What's happened then? What weird and wonderful crime has been committed that Lestrade needs your help?'

'Double homicide,' Sherlock answered dryly, looking away from John out of the cab window.

'Was it brutal?'

'Homicide is always harsh John but this killing was not a violent one.'

'Then why does Lestrade need you then?'

'He's out of his depth as usual.'

'But why, what's so special about this case?'

'You'll see when we get there why I'm needed,' Sherlock replied elusively.

John contented himself with watching London go by, he knew he would get no further explanation from his surly companion. He glanced across the cab at Sherlock, his face was fixed in a scowl and his hands were clasped in front of him. However many of these awkward, silent cab rides he took with Sherlock he swore he would never get used to them, each was as weird and thrilling as the first.

They arrived at an end terrace house in East London, the road in front and to the side cornered off with police tape. The front garden was crawling with officers and forensic experts. They were quickly led through the assembled officers by a snarling Sergeant Sally Donovan. She pointed into the master bedroom with a look of pure disgust in her face.

'Freak she spat at Sherlock's retreating back. A whimsical smile crossed his face before he partially turned his head towards her, his face once more serious, and asked her, 'How is Anderson's wife?'

John repressed a smile as Donovan's face fell. 'You…I…No…How?' she stuttered. Sherlock turned to give Donovan an evil smirk before motioning for John to follow him into the room.

John walked into the bedroom and surveyed his surroundings. A young couple lay in the double bed as if they were sleeping peacefully. On closer inspection the couples' complete motionless confirmed that they were both dead. He turned to look at Sherlock, a look of pure confusion on his face.

'Well, you're the doctor, tell me how they died.'

John walked closer to the bed checking both bodies for pulses, blood and bruising.

'No blood, no bruising around the neck but they appear to have died from oxygen deprivation,' John thought out loud.

'No DNA, no fingerprints and no signs of entry. There was no struggle, they never woke up,' Lestrade added.

'No leads at all?' John asked incredulously as he stood back from the bed.

'None,' Sherlock interjected, "That's why they need me.'

'So, how do you think they were killed then, Freak?' Donovan bitterly hissed from the doorway.

'They were suffocated obviously.'

'Ha! If nobody but them entered this bedroom how were they suffocated?' Donovan laughed.

'In the usual way, they were deprived of oxygen and therefore died in their sleep.'

'They weren't chocked, they weren't smothered so how were they killed Sherlock?' Lestrade shouted, his patience snapping.

'It's obvious, isn't it!' Holmes cried. 'Somebody has made this room airtight, unknown to the homeowners evidently.'

Watson, Lestrade and Donovan stood bewildered, staring at Sherlock open mouthed.

He growled in the back of his throat before shouting at them, 'How can you not see it? I am astounded by all your ignorance.'

He stalked over to the bedroom door and closed it in Anderson's face as he was about to walk into the room. There were very muffled shouts from the hall that Sherlock completely ignored.

'Look at the door, what do you see? What is different about this door to every other door in the house?'

'Why don't you stop wasting our time and tell us!' Donovan snarled.

'Listen to the door as it closes,' Sherlock commanded before opening the door and closing it again dramatically.

' I didn't hear anything,' Lestrade sighed and the other two shook their heads.

'Come closer and listen to it open then.'

The three confused spectators shuffled forwards and craned their necks to hear what Sherlock was going on about.

'It sounds like a fridge opening!' John exclaimed.

'Exactly!' Sherlock cried. 'Somebody has installed a vacuum seal on this door like, as John said, you would find on a fridge. This stops air entering the room from the rest of the house.'

'So somebody must have installed it yesterday as these two died last night,' Donovan announced triumphantly.

'Wrong,' Sherlock cut in. 'Firstly, does it look like any work has been carried out in the hall in the last few days, it is far too clean. Secondly, when I took a look at the crime scene this morning I examined the outside of the window. Around the window frame there were remnants of a waterproof, airtight putty which is usually used to waterproof welds and plumbing. Somebody smeared this around the window, risking being seen by neighbours or the houses behind. They were getting desperate, the door was not working on its own, enough air was entering the bedroom for the couple to survive the night.'

'How did they know that the window was the source of the oxygen and they did not sleep with their bedroom door open?' Donovan quipped, trying to find a flaw in Sherlock's logic.

'The killer must have had access to the couple and their bedroom. He is clever, devising this plan to kill this couple. He wouldn't have risked discovery or wasted time installing the seal on the door if they knew it was going to be open all night. As for knowing the seal of the window was not air tight, take a look at the wall paper surrounding it. It shows obvious signs of damp where the rain has leaked in. The killer must have seen this or been told about it to know to place the putty on the window frame.'

'OK, so how could he be sure that the couple would have their window closed? Sleeping with the door closed is a habit but it was warm last night, they may have had it open' John asked.

'John is right Sherlock. I've talked to the neighbours and they say that the couple usually slept with the window open and when they went to bed at nine thirty the window was closed,' Lestrade interjected.

'Last night in London two inches of rain fell between ten pm and two am accompanied by strong winds from the North. This bedroom is North facing so the rain would have been blown in if the window was open further exasperating the damp. Either through their own common sense or acting on advice they closed the window last night.'

'So your saying the killer went out in the rain and the wind, climbed up to the window and applied the putty after the window had been closed,' Donovan snorted.

'Yes and I can prove that somebody entered the garden last night after it began to rain.' Sherlock said smugly before rushing down the stairs. Lestrade, John and Donovan followed him down the stairs with the still grumbling Anderson close behind them. When they went out of the house Sherlock was standing by the side gate, bending over a patch of mud where the grass had been worn away by frequent use.

'Two sets of footprints in the mud. So there were two of them?' John asked.

'No. Anderson stepped in the mud when he entered the back garden to look for DNA evidence, I heard him complaining about his shoes,' Sherlock muttered darkly. 'The larger prints are Anderson's the other set, about a UK size nine I'd say, belong to the killer.'

'How can they be sure that they are the killer's prints, by the look of it lots of people use this gate?' Lestrade asked pinching the bridge of his nose.

'Last night was the first time in over a month it rained in London so the prints must be fresh. None of the neighbours entered the garden before the police were alerted, they were found by the deceased female's mother who was picking her up for a hospital appointment. The only officer on site with muddy shoes is Anderson so therefore the most probable owner of the prints is the killer.'

Sherlock nodded towards Lestrade before walking away, 'Text me if there are any further developments ,' he called over his shoulder.

John offered a small smile to Lestrade and Donovan before running to catch up with Sherlock; 'Any idea why she was going to the hospital this morning?' John asked.

'She was pregnant.'

**Reviews would be most welcome **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to xxkissesandcuddlesxx and SweetLilNothing**

**My brains inability to turn off is the reason for the quick update**

**All reviews even negative and anonymous ones are appreciated I just want to improve my writing and hopefully entertain you**

'Pregnant!' John exclaimed.

'As I previously stated John, you're the doctor. Couldn't you tell?'

'I was looking for causes of death not pregnancy. She can't have been that far gone.'

'She was about four months and just starting to show.'

'Could this have anything to do with their murder?'

'John, I think it has everything to do with the murder.'

They continued to walk down the street in silence, John letting it all sink in and Sherlock busy thinking. They hailed a cab and after the second silent taxi ride of the day they found themselves back at 221b Baker Street.

'You were out early this morning Sherlock, anything interesting happen in the night?' Mrs. Hudson asked as they walked through the front door.

'A young couple found dead in their home, a very interesting case' Sherlock replied smiling.

'Oh it's not right for you to be so excited Sherlock,' she laughed before turning back into her flat. 'I've just put the kettle on if your interested boys but this is the last time,' she called after them.

'Tea would be lovely Mrs. Hudson,' John sighed before climbing the stairs.

Sherlock was already sitting with his violin on his knee, mindlessly plucking at the strings, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't speak as John entered and he didn't thank Mrs. Hudson when she placed his tea in front of him.

After four hours of total silence bar the tuneless scrapings of the violin John had become bored of the internet. He had looked at as many inane and pointless websites he could cope with before glancing at the clock, eight pm.

'I think I'll pop round to Sarah's.' No response from the detective. 'Bye then.'

Sherlock turned his head to watch him leave and waited for the front door to close before he pounce on John's laptop. He entered the predictable password, opened up the internet browser and started searching. He scribbled a few notes about early pregnancy on a piece of paper before grabbing his coat, scarf and gloves and descending to the street.

He hailed a cab and asked to be taken to St. Barts, secretly hoping that Molly was working late.

He ran into the hospital and headed straight for the morgue, bypassing the living inhabitants of the hospital. He peered through the round window and smiled a wicked smile when he saw Molly sitting writing up a report. He pushed open the door and walked in as if he had every right to be there.

Molly squeaked when she turned and saw him standing behind her.

'New lipstick?' he enquired.

'Yes umm I bought it this morning.'

'Any reason for the change in shade.'

'I was told by a friend I would look best in a warmer colours.

"He was right it makes your eyes look brighter.'

Molly stood staring at him trying to decipher how he knew her friend was a man and digest the fact that he had noticed her eyes. Sherlock knew from the smile that graced her lips that she would do whatever he asked.

'The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Daniels please?'

'Uh sure,' Molly mumbled, disappointment evident in her eyes. She pulled out the two bodies and returned to her report writing. She glanced over at Sherlock examining first the man and then the woman and muttering to himself constantly.

When he was finished he slid the bodies away before turning to Molly to give her a fleeting smile that barely reached his lips let alone his eyes.

'Thank you Molly,' he muttered unconvincingly before turning and leaving the morgue. Molly watched the door long after he left with sad, lonely eyes before she packed up her things and left the hospital. As she always did after Sherlock left she vowed never to let him manipulate her again but she just couldn't help it. His dangerous exciting life was a world away from her dreary existence and she couldn't help being drawn in by him.

Sherlock arrived back at the flat a eleven pm and resumed his position in the armchair by the fire, violin in hand so that when John arrived fifteen minutes later he looked as if he had never left. John stared at the mug of cold tea which had a skin covering the surface.

'You could have at least drunk the tea Mrs. Hudson made you.' Sherlock didn't respond which caused John to huff and throw his arms in the air.

'I've had enough, I'm going to bed unless you are going to talk to me and give me something productive to do. I'm not just going to sit up all night and listen to you torture that poor instrument.'

Sherlock's expression remained blank but he picked up his bow and began to play a soft melody as John walked to his room.

'You. Are. Impossible!' John cried, pausing at the door to his bedroom. He turned to look back at Sherlock but still his flat mate refused to acknowledge him. Shaking his head he proceeded to bed, he had a morning shift in the surgery and he needed some sleep.

When John entered the living room in the morning to make himself a cup of tea to help him face the day Sherlock was still sitting in the same chair, knees bent to his chest and the violin discarded on the coffee table. John picked up and washed the mugs from the night before and poured two steaming cups of tea. For the first time since leaving the crime scene Sherlock seemed to see him. He looked down at the tea before looking back up at John.

'You may have no regard for your personal health but I as a doctor cannot let you die of thirst whilst I stand and watch,' he sighed before slumping into the other arm chair, nursing the tea.

'Are you ready to go out, I need to see someone?'

'I can't this morning I have a shift at the surgery.

Sherlock got up, again disregarding the tea that had been placed in front of him and stalked into the kitchen to retrieve his coat. John distinctly heard mutterings about "skulls" before Sherlock walked through the kitchen door and down the stairs. He vowed the day he understood Sherlock was the day the world would end.

Sherlock wrapped his coat around himself tightly, the heavy rain two nights ago had signaled a dramatic turn in the weather. It seemed the wind was here to stay. Cursing the British weather he hailed a cab and directed it to East London.

They were hardly any police at all at the house and he had no problems accessing the crime scene with out Donovan causing trouble. He scoured the garden for another clue to the identity of the killer. He had worked out the means but until he had figured out the motive he had no suspects. He searched their bedroom carefully, well aware of the officer standing outside the door pretending he wasn't watching him.

He was looking through the drawers of the bedside table closest to the door when he found something interesting. The bottom drawer looked much smaller than it should be and on closer inspection he found that it had a false bottom. A diary was contained inside the secret compartment along with a fountain pen.

He text Lestrade urging him to get there right away before he proceeded to examine the diary. It was a simple black leather diary with a silver lock, unobtrusive and innocent enough but somebody had felt the need to hide it.

The lock was easy work and within seconds it was lying next to the pen on the bedside table. As Sherlock suspected it was written by Mrs. Daniels as it was more likely for a woman to keep a diary and it was found on the side of the bed she had been found in. He flicked to the last entry, written on the night of her death. It was uninformative it went on about how she was apprehensive about her appointment.

Unimpressed by what he had found Sherlock turned back to the first page of the diary, some six months previously, that appeared to be written on the night before her wedding. She went on at some length about how excited she was that the day was finally here but it was the last passage that really stood out to Sherlock.

"I called AL earlier and ended our agreement. I can't carry on this way, it just isn't right."

He left the diary open at the first page and moved on to examining the pen, the lid of the pen was inscribed "To BH from AL".

'What was the bride's maiden name?' Sherlock asked Lestrade as he walked in the door.

'Before she was married her name was Rebecca Howells.'

'BH, Becky Howells,' Sherlock muttered as he handed Lestrade the pen. 'I think you should read this.'

Lestrade read the passage before he asked, 'What sort of agreement do you think it was? Was she having an affair?'

'I don't think it was an affair, she seems very committed to her husband in her writing. I think it is more likely a business deal as she has described so emotionlessly. If it was an affair she wouldn't have kept the pen either.'

'What kind of business deal was it then?'

'She was a young up and coming executive, career driven and determined. It was probably some way of getting herself to the top.'

'Ok then, do you have any idea who AL is.'

'There was no AL in her address book, e mail correspondence or her phone. Nobody with the initials AL works at her company or was listed by her friends or relatives.'

'So we have a possible suspect but we have no clue who he is,' Lestrade sighed.

Sherlock flicked through the diary quickly stopping at a page about two third of the way in.

'I think you can add rape to the list of charges stacking up against AL,' Sherlock cried.

'Why? What have you found?'

'Look here, she's filled in this diary religiously for six months apart from one day in which she has just written AL in block capitals. If you look closely some of the lines of the page have faded, she was crying when she wrote this. For a career driven woman like Becky, getting pregnant this early into her marriage was not an option she never would have got pregnant voluntarily and she and her husband used protection. Also the date this entry was written adds up as a possible conception date.'

'So how can you be sure her husband was not the father of the baby?'

'Her diary entries from this point on are less perky and on the day she found out she was pregnant she seems to be utterly despondent and evens mentions taking her own life. Secondly, I talked to her mother yesterday morning she seemed very reluctant to talk about the pregnancy or the hospital appointment but she did confirm the husband didn't know about the pregnancy.'

'OK, that seems odd but that still does not mean AL is the babies father.'

'Contact the hospital and find out what Becky's appointment was for and text me when you know. I'm going back to Baker Street to see if I can work out who AL is.'

When Sherlock arrived back at 221 he was surprised to see the front door open and boxes in the hall way. He walked around the boxes and poked his head into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

'Ahh, Sherlock come in. I want to introduce you to my new tenant Alexandra Taylor. She's renting 221c, after all I need the money with your sporadic payments and the reduced rate I'm giving you.'

Sherlock took one look at the girl and smiled.

'Recently left university, just moved to London from Hereford but you studied in Bath. You studied biology, just received a PhD in … ah ha , neuroscience. Your into winter sports, you love to read and you play a musical instrument, I'm going to go with the piano.'

Lexi sat there open mouthed staring at Sherlock before looking to Mrs. Hudson.

'He does that all the time dear, you get used to it eventually,' she sighed.

Turning back to Sherlock she began to ask how but decided that didn't matter, she didn't really want to know anyway.

'That was amazing,'

'So I was right.' It wasn't a question it was a statement. Sherlock smiled again at the look of wonder on her face before disappearing up the stairs.

'He's a bit of a sociopath I'm afraid but nothing to worry about he's a Consulting Detective,' Mrs. Hudson cheerily cried. 'Now let's get you into your room and don't you worry about Sherlock Holmes.'

'A consulting detective, what's that?'

'You just saw it, dear.

**So what do you think so far?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long wait but my I've been so busy it's unreal!**

**Thank you to those that have reviewed **

Susan Howells sat in an interview room of Scotland Yard opposite Sally Donovan, a tissue clutched in her shaking hands.

'Mrs. Howells, it is imperative that you tell us everything you can think of about your daughter and her husband, any enemies they may have had. Anybody who might have a motive to kill them.'

Mrs. Howells broke down crying, mascara streaming down her cheeks.

'I just can't believe that they're gone,' she sobbed.

Donovan sighed and pushed herself away from the table. She turned her back on the crying woman and walked out of the interview room.

'Has she told you anything useful?' Lestrade asked walking towards her.

'She hasn't stopped crying yet, every question I ask prompts more tears.'

Sherlock walked in to the observation area causing Donovan to choke on her coffee.

'What is the FREAK doing here?' she screeched glaring at Lestrade. 'He can't interview suspects here.'

'Under light of new evidence, I need to speak to Mrs. Howells urgently,' Sherlock sneered at Donovan.

'You can't! You're going to unleash him on a poor crying woman?' she asked Lestrade.

'I'm going in there with him to make sure he doesn't do too much damage. It'll speed up the investigation if Sherlock interviews her; he's the best at reading body language and we have so little to go on this interview could prove crucial.'

Lestrade ignored the furious Donovan and motioned for Sherlock to enter the interview room. They sat down at the table opposite Mrs. Howells and introduced themselves.

'Are you not a police officer?' the confused Mrs. Howells asked Sherlock.

'I'm a consulting detective, so no I am not a police officer,' Sherlock droned.

'Then why are you here?'

'Mr. Holmes is aiding us in the investigation of the death of your daughter and son in law. He is a specialist in criminology and criminal psychology.'

'Should he be here then?'

'Look, Mrs. Howells. Your daughter and her husband were murdered in their beds. There is very little evidence and no real suspects so the police are out of their depth. I am assuming you want the murderer caught. If you want the case to be solved you are going to have to co-operate and answer my questions truthfully,' Sherlock growled.

She looked completely shocked at his bluntness but she nodded.

'Are you aware of any acquaintance of your daughter or her husband with the initials AL?' Lestrade asked.

'AL? I can't think of anybody with those initials,' Mrs. Howells responded after thinking it over. 'Not even any of her school friends had the first initial A.'

Lestrade ran a hand through his graying hair and Sherlock scowled.

'Are you sure, Mrs. Howells. You and your daughter seem very close, after all you knew she was pregnant and was planning an abortion yet her husband did not. Ah, but of course he wasn't the father of the baby so why should he know about it.'

Mrs. Howells sat staring at Sherlock open mouthed.

'It was a mistake…she made a mistake…she was so remorseful,' she stuttered tears pouring down her face.

She sat there, tissue pressed to her eyes breathing deeply. Once she had calmed down she continued.

'She made a stupid mistake, she knew Will would never understand, he was so possessive and jealous. He would have made something big out of it.'

'Of course, a baby is such a small thing. No big deal at all,' Sherlock groaned sarcastically.

'She had no intention of keeping it as you well know!' Mrs. Howells snapped.

'So, you know she had an unadvisable fling which ended up with her getting pregnant. At the moment the father of the baby is an important lead and a possible suspect. Do you know who he is?' Lestrade asked, trying to calm down the near hysterical woman.

Mrs. Howells sighed.

'It wasn't a fling, it was only one night. I only know his first name, Andy. She said she knew him through work.'

'Did you know of any agreement between your daughter and this Andy?' Sherlock asked.

'No as I said it was a one night thing.'

'Thank you Mrs. Howells you have been very helpful. We are very sorry for your loss and if there is any development into the investigation we shall let you know. If you would step outside the interview room Sergeant Donovan will show you out,' Lestrade politely ordered.

The two men followed her out of the room and made her way to Lestrade's office.

Lestrade picked up a document off his desk and flicked through it quickly.

'No Andy or Andrews listed as working for the company,' he sighed.

'Just because he was a colleague, doesn't mean he has to work at the same company as her. Mrs. Daniels and her mother seemed very close, judging by the over emotional reactions we have just witnessed and the way she wrote about her mother in the diary.'

'What can we do know?' Lestrade sighed.

'A financial check up, see if she had money coming in from a mysterious source. I'm going home, I need to talk to John,'

'I'll text you if we find anything unusual.'

Sherlock arrived back at 221b Baker Street to find John slumped in an arm chair in front of the unlit fire.

"How did the interview with the mother go? Sorry I couldn't come with you but these surgery shifts are the only money we have coming in,' John sighed.

'She gave us a first name, Andrew, but that was all she knew. She didn't shed any light on the arrangement,' Sherlock huffed collapsing on the sofa. He lay staring at the ceiling, hands pressed together thinking.

He suddenly jumped up, 'Come on John, I think it's about time we went to see a lawyer.'

'What, why?'

'To see what we can find out about the Daniels,' Sherlock called over his shoulder as he ran down the stairs.

John sighed as he followed his flat mate to the street. He got in the waiting cab in time to hear Sherlock ask for 'Thompson and Lloyd's please.'

The cab pulled up outside an impressive law firm in the centre of London and Sherlock jumped out and ran in with a small nod to the door man.

He flashed an I.D. card at the receptionist and asked to be taken to William and Rebecca Daniels lawyer.

'Lestrade's I.D.?' John asked.

'Of course, how else would I get to see their lawyer,' Sherlock smirked.

An hour later John and Sherlock were walking to the lift after an unsuccessful interview with Miss Jones, the Daniels lawyer.

'Nothing. No Andrews, no ALs nobody to benefit from their deaths,' Sherlock shouted at his reflection. 'Whoever planned this was clever but they must have made a mistake some where.'

The lift pinged signaling they had reached the ground floor and they both turned to exit. Sherlock paused for a second and pulled John back in before the doors closed.

'Why did you do that? What further information can Miss Jones tell us?' John demanded tersely.

'Oh her, she can't tell us anything.'

'Then why are we back in the lift?'

'I just noticed the plaque on the wall.'

"Thompson and Lloyd's of London. Established in 1995 by Mr. Robert Thompson and Mr. Andrew Lloyd," John read aloud.

'What is so special about the plaque, it just tells us how old the law firm is and who the partners are.'

'Sometimes I wish I could see inside your mind, John. It must be so boring in there.'

'What? What have I missed this time? John huffed.

'We are looking for an AL, first name most likely Andrew. We cannot find and Andrews in Mrs. Daniels company, circle of friends, anywhere we have looked so far . Yet here it is obvious and staring you in the face and you still cannot see it. Read the plaque again John and keep in mind who we are looking for.'

'You think the founder of the law firm her lawyer works for is our man?'

'No. I know he is the man. This is a very influential and exclusive law firm. It has been puzzling me how a young couple of relatively low profile careers had dealings here. It all makes sense now of course.'

'Of course it does,' John sniped sarcastically, still totally unaware of what Sherlock was getting at.

'To be big in business you need to know people John. Rebecca Daniels knew people, quite obviously. That is how she got such a sought after job so young, that's how she has such a high profile lawyer. She has connections that most people her age can only dream of.'

'So her deal with AL was to get her a good lawyer and a good job. What did she do for him in return?'

'That is what we are about to find out.'

The lift pinged once again signaling they had reached the top floor. Sherlock strolled out the lift, leaving a slightly confused John a few steps behind him.

He flashed his stolen I.D. at the secretary and with a devilish smile asked 'Mr Andrew Lloyd please and don't call ahead if you don't mind.'


	4. Chapter 4

Right a **HUGE apology** is in order for the immensely long time it has taken me to update this story. My life has been turned completely upside down by uni and have only just got back into writing as a break from exam revision. Thank you to all those that have reviewed and kept with this story you inspired me to take it up again _ music-loving-penguin xx

Please be gentle first time I've written in ages, its 3 in the morning and any mistakes are my own.

* * *

Sherlock barged into Andrew Lloyd's luxurious office, slamming the thick wooden door into the wall as he shoved it unceremoniously open. John followed a little more sedately rolling his eyes at his companions over dramatic entrance.

'Mr. Andrew Lloyd. Senior partner of Thompson and Lloyd?' Sherlock asked the startled looking man sitting behind the oversized desk. He was in his early 50s, greying around the temples but in good physical condition. He looked pale and nervous as Sherlock stalked towards him.

'Yes,' he stammered. 'How may I help you gentlemen?' he asked. He rose from his chair to shake Sherlock by the hand but was ignored by the detective.

Coughing to mask the awkwardness he sat down and ran his fingers through his hair.

'It's about Becka isn't it?' he sighed. 'I knew it would get to me eventually.'

He stood up and walked to the window pulling the blinds closed.

'If you would be so kind as to tell us your relationship with Rebecca Daniels, Mr. Thompson,' Sherlock commanded.

I'll tell you everything,' he sighed again. 'As you are here you already know a little of what went on between Becka and myself.'

'All we knew before we walked in this office Mr. Lloyd was that someone of the name of AL had an arrangement with Mrs. Daniels that she called off the night before her wedding. That four months ago something happened between AL and her that caused her great distress. The only thing we knew about AL was that he was well off otherwise he never would have been able to afford such an exclusive customised fountain pen. The only reason that we are now standing in your office is that your initials are AL and you have a tenuous connection with Mrs. Daniels as her lawyer works for your company,' Sherlock summarised.

Andrew looked shocked and confused, 'That is all you know and yet you still found me?'

'No Mr. Lloyd that was all we knew. Despite your confession to knowing the late Mrs. Daniels there are certain clues around this office and your person that would lead me to that conclusion. Your pen for example; the same highly exclusive make with a very select clientèle. Too much of a coincidence I think. Also the obvious signs of lack of sleep and worry show you have received bad news in the last few days, the bags under your eyes and your badly shaved chin all point to this. Also her file on your desk is very suspicious, her lawyer is Miss Jones not yourself. You are far too important to be involved in such a matter, even if it is highly unusual.'

Andrew sighed and sunk a little lower in his chair.

'I will tell you know that I did not kill her Mr..?'

'Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective working with Scotland Yard on the Daniels case. My associate Dr. John Watson.'

John gave a nod and stood back to listen to the man's story.

'My wife Mr. Holmes left me fifteen years ago, we married far too young before we knew who we were ourselves, let alone before another could decipher us. We grew apart over the years and soon it was just our two daughters keeping us together. When the younger, Helen, was fourteen we decided to call it a day. Our arguments were getting out of hand and it upset the girls; we decided it was for the best.

I never remarried and this was a constant source of worry for my business partner Robert. He is an old fashioned sort of chap and for a man of our age to be unmarried is unthinkable for him. He began questioning my sexuality; if that was why Lorraine left me and why I had not re-married. I put him to rights many times Mr. Holmes but he kept raising the issue. He would not believe me that I still loved my wife. His pride is everything to him and when his first wife left him he hated her for "making him look a fool". This all came to a head about two years ago.

'That was when I met Becka. It was in a small coffee shop in the City that I frequented before it became a chain owned marketing machine. She was in front of me in the queue and she looked so distraught and flustered. She dropped her coffee as it was handed to her and she looked close to tears. She looked so similar to my dear Lorraine that I bought her a replacement coffee and sat down at a table with her to talk.

She explained that she had just been for a job interview in one of the big advertising agencies but she had been turned down. It was her fourth rejection in a month. She hated her current job and wanted to move up in the world and really make her name. I told her about my elder daughter Clare who was leaving her job in the advertising department at BT and that I would get her an interview if she liked. She was so pleased, she gave me her mobile number and went on her way.

When I made her that offer it was purely out of the kindness of my heart. I had no ulterior motive – another weakness of mine Robert like to throw in my face. When I returned from my lunch Robert was in my office, he just wanted a friendly chat but it soon turned to my singe status and it infuriated me to the core. He threatened to disband the business – force me out of my share as he is the primary partner.

That was when the arrangement popped into my head. Becka had said she would do anything reasonable to help me and I desperately needed her help. I rang her and told her of my predicament with Robert and if she would be willing to act as my mistress and in return I would help her prepare for her interview.

She was career driven Mr. Holmes and agreed on the terms that if she only had to pretended for a few functions every now and again she would consent to it as she deeply loved her boyfriend Will.

Becka continued to come to me for career advice after she obtained the job and as time wore on I began to fall for her. I begged her to leave Will and marry me but she was too devoted to him and intent on marrying him.

Six months ago Becka arrived unannounced at my door the night before her wedding and called off the agreement. I begged her to reconsider everything but she would not hide anything from Will once they were married. I am ashamed to say that I did not give up easily, I did not contact her directly at her request but I kept a close eye on her.

Four months ago Will was called away on business and I saw my chance. I admit I had a drink to give myself a bit of Dutch courage before I ventured to her house and I am afraid I rather over did it. She was shocked and angry to see me and our discourse became heated.

I did not intend for it to happen but the drink and my suppressed feelings overcame me and I lashed out at her. I missed and she ran upstairs to escape me. She was trying to bar the bedroom door but it was flimsy and I broke it in my attempts to get to her. I held her down on the bed and, and …Oh God Mr. Holmes I .. I…' Andrew Lloyd broke down sobbing.

'You raped her Mr. Lloyd and she fell pregnant with your child.'

'Yes!' the despondent man cried out. 'I offered her everything to make it up to her but she would not acknowledge me at all, not that I blame her. I deeply regret it and I am so terribly ashamed. I will come clean for that charge I admit it openly and I will serve whatever punishment I am given.'

'I will hold you to that Mr. Lloyd, but this gets us no further to working out who murdered the unfortunate couple,' Holmes cried in frustration.

'Did you tell anyone of your drunken mistake Mr. Lloyd?' he asked rounding once again on the shaken man.

'Yes I told a half truth to my partner replacing the agreement with an affair but he was deadly afraid of another scandal. A few years back he had been accused of sexual misconduct and it greatly affected the company.

You see Becka was devoted to Will and I knew she would not lie about the paternity of the child, she was not capable of it. Will was a possessive and passionate man Mr. Holmes and would not let this go by unheard of. He would have ruined me and in the process ruined the company. Our reputation already tainted would have been beyond repair and it would have been the end.'

'Did you know that the morning after she was murdered she had booked in for an abortion?' Sherlock asked with an ice cold stare.

Andrew Lloyd's world seemed to dissolve around him as his lips formed a soundless no.

'She never told her husband, only her mother knew of the pregnancy and she knew nothing of you and the crime you committed. Mrs. Daniels was trying to protect you Mr. Lloyd. Despite everything she still cared for you as she kept the pen you gave her and did not drag you down. She didn't want it to affect either of your lives more than it already had.'

The lawyer had visibly slumped and was furiously running his fingers through his hair. A tense silence crept over the room as Sherlock settled down in a chair to think

After a few minutes his head snapped up from studying the man's shoes to look into his eyes, 'Did you include the part about breaking down the door to your partner?'

'Yes, is that important?' Andrew asked incredulously.

'Mr. Lloyd, that and the small size of your feet are the most important pieces of information that you could have imparted to us.'

With the Sherlock brushed out of the office leaving a bewildered, distraught lawyer and a floundering doctor.

'We'll be in touch,' John sighed before turning and walking quickly after the retreating back of Sherlock.

"Where are we off to know Sherlock?'

'To the home of the man who conspired to murder that young couple.'


	5. Chapter 5

**I grovel whole heartedly at the long update but I had the worst case of writers block, coupled that with Uni and I almost forgotten about this story but I decided it was time to continue after re-watching Sherlock **

**So sorry again, I hope the length and reintroduction of Lexi go someway to making up for the wait xx**

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An hour later a frustrated Sherlock and a very tired John arrived back at 221b and slumped in their respective armchairs.

Sherlock stared at the bullet holes in the wall above the sofa as if trying to add to them with his mind.

'Do you think he was tipped off?' John asked.

'Of course he was, this man has conspired to commit murder John. He had men pose as workmen and enter a young couple's home to kill them. He would rather them dead than his career and company be tarnished. He had people John and they are onto us.'

With this Sherlock jumped up and stormed into his bedroom slamming the door behind him. He reappeared five minutes later applying a third nicotine patch to his arm. He flung himself on the sofa and pressed on the patches urging them to release the nicotine faster to aid his thinking.

'Where would he go? Where would you go John? No wait, don't answer that. This man is a calculating and intelligent it would be impossible for you to think like him.'

'Thanks, I think,' John sighed. 'I'm off anyway I have a date with Sarah. See you later.'

Sherlock barely registered him leaving and stared at the ceiling trying to work out where a prestigious lawyer would escape to.

As John left the flat he bumped into Mrs. Hudson on the stairs.

'Off out alone dear?' she enquired.

'Yes, I'm off to see Sarah.'

'No luck today then?'

'Our prime suspect has fled his house, everything important has gone, documents, money. He's even cleared out his bank. He hasn't been seen since yesterday morning when he came into work and left again in a hurry half an hour later. Only thing he's left behind is his outraged trophy wife who knows less than we do.'

'That's a shame, I'll take him up a cup of tea to cheer him up, I've just put the kettle on but you do know I'm not paid to be your housekeeper,' she mumbled as she disappeared into her flat.

As John opened the door as Lexi was climbing out of a taxi looking exhausted and flustered.

'London getting to you already?' John laughed holding open the door.

'It's just so big!' she sighed and thanked him before he dived into the taxi she had vacated.

As she was opening the door to her tiny little flat Mrs. Hudson stuck her head into the corridor.

'Ah Lexi dear I was wondering if you would do me a favor. I've made Sherlock a cup of tea but my hip, it's playing up terrible now I'm off the herbal soothers. Would you mind taking it up for me dear. He won't bite I promise, he probably won't even notice your there; he's a bit funny when he's on a case.'

Lexi reluctantly agreed but Mrs. Hudson was kind enough and was always bringing Lexi tea herself which was welcome on the long nights of writing papers and reports.

She climbed the stairs not entirely sure what she would find. She had not had a further conversation with Sherlock since his primary analysis. She had been assured by Mrs. Hudson and John that more would follow but a difficult and highly interesting case was occupying him completely.

As she reached the front door she paused. She had heard of his experiments and she was used to dissected bodies but the though of them in her own home was unsettling. Steeling herself for whatever waited for her behind the door she summoned up the courage to enter the flat.

Sherlock was sitting facing the door, knees under his chin, piercing blue eyes looking right through her. His violin was on the other chair and John's laptop was on his knee.

Not wanting to disturb his concentration she walked quietly to the coffee table, placed the mug of tea on it and turned to leave.

She let out a small scream as a strong hand fastened around her wrist. She swung around to look at Sherlock.

Without looking at her he asked her, 'If you were a highly influential well off business man and you wanted to hide where would you go?'

'Monaco I guess,' she replied after she had recovered from the shock.

'So he would blend in, not stand out. Would probably have contacts that could set him up, especially as he is not unaccustomed with scandals. New life in the sun, how pleasant for him.'

Lexi guessed it was about the Daniels but she didn't know how. She had read about it in the papers though the details had been sketchy at best.

'Unlucky for him I had foreseen this and have already contacted Interpol and the police so even if he has got away he won't go untraced for long even with the tip off.'

As if it had been waiting for him to voice this his phone buzzed on the table and he snatched it up triumphantly and dashed out of the flat.

He stormed back in again quickly.

'Your not a doctor or a forensics expert but I do hate to work alone and Anderson had become even more insufferable recently. John is out trying to make the progression from lilo to sofa or even bed if he is lucky and Mrs. Hudson refuses to tell me the whereabouts of my skull.'

Lexi looked at him questioningly, every reference went straight over her head though the overall meaning was not completely lost.

'You want me to come with you?'

'Ah yes, you will do in the circumstances.'

'As in there is nobody else, not even a skull so I will do?' she asked a little offended.

'I sense by your gentle shift in body language and slight deepening of voice that I have offended you. I will have you know that I will not just work with anybody. You can listen, you can think, to a degree, two thing which not everybody can do. I believe you think you have further qualities but those are the two I require of you.'

'You want me to come with you so you can spell out your theories and explain them to me, you want an audience,' she responded flatly.

'So you're coming then?'

Her body screamed that it wanted sleep. Her brain screamed that this was a bad idea but despite all that she heard herself agree. As she rushed downstairs to retrieve her recently discarded coat and scarf she tried to convince herself that this would be educational. She failed to convince herself, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep up with Sherlock and would feel stupid but at least it would be a break from her life.

She was dragged into a cab and whisked across London to St Pancras station. She blindly followed Sherlock into the bustle of the station and was escorted by a seething Sergeant into a security office.

'Whose this?' Lestrade asked pointing at Lexi.

'She's with the Freak, says she's his new colleague.' Donovan growled before storming out.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a look

'What, John's busy,' was the only explanation he was offered

He pointed through into an interview room to a well dressed man.

'Robert Thompson, caught boarding the Eurostar to Paris, found car hire documents in his luggage. No sign of the other documents that are missing, I assume they have been sent on ahead. He was boarding with a fake passport. I can give you five minutes with him Sherlock.'

'I am sure that will be sufficient.'

'I'm afraid you will have to wait in her Miss..'

'Lexi,' she blurted, 'Alexandra Taylor.'

'Well Lexi I'm breaking all the rules letting him in so I hope you can understand.'

Still bewildered and unsure of why she was there Lexi nodded and watched as Lestrade and Sherlock walked into the interview room.

'Judging from your published papers you are good at observations and have studied nervous ticks and other involuntary traits. I want you to observe him closely, I like a second opinion,' Sherlock instructed before he closed the door.

Lexi pulled up a chair to the glass and watched the interview unfold and carefully noted in her orgaiser the body language that Mr. Thompson displayed.

Sherlock sat opposite the lawyer and also carefully surveyed the body language of the man opposite him.

'I assure you my name is Stephen Wells, I know nothing of a Robert Thompson.'

'According to the fingerprints that were take from your case and those taken from the office of Mr. Thompson you are the same person. Also, although this is an excellent specimen this is a forged passport,' Sherlock stated.

The look in his eyes and the shift of his stance were all it took to signal to Sherlock that Thompson knew the game was up but he persisted in his act for a few minutes.

Growing bored Sherlock interjected the protests of innocence, 'Mr. Thompson I am an expert in reading body language and I can tell you exactly fifteen tells that you have displayed while you have lied to us now if you would kindly drop the act we would like to talk to you about Mrs. Rebecca Daniels.'

At this the act crumbled away and Mr. Thompson broke down.

'You're Holmes aren't you. As soon as I knew you were on the case I knew I was done for. I may as well tell you everything, I know that you know most of it already.'

'When my partner came to me and told me of his affair and the resulting pregnancy I knew something had to be done. He told me of her vindictive jealous husband and I knew I had to protect the company. So with help I hatched a plan. I knew about the broken door so I made sure the handy men she hired were misdirected and replaced them with men in my employ. They fitted the vacuum seal on the bedroom door two weeks ago. I waited with baited breath for the news but it did not come. A few days ago I sent one of my men around to see if he could see why. I sent one of the original men when her husband was out under the pretence of checking the fitting of the door. He noted the damp by the window and asked if they slept with it open.'

Sherlock turned to Lestrade with a small triumphant grin before turning his attention back to the narrative of the disgraced lawyer.

'When he found out they did he told them to keep it closed that night due to the predicted wet weather. I was getting desperate by now as my man reported that she was beginning to show the pregnancy so I sent him out to place the putty on the window that night.'

'Very clever,' Sherlock interjected, 'An ingenious way of ending a life but don't you think you left far to much evidence to point to the cause of death.'

'The seal and putty were supposed to be removed, my men had obtained a copy of the keys to the back door whilst carrying out the original work. When they arrived to remove the evidence they found the mother was already there.'

'Weren't you worried Andrew Lloyd would suspect you?'

'Ha, him no. He can't see past his own nose unless it is to do with legal matters. He hadn't made the link until he told you I bet.'

'A few more loosed ends and then I think we are finished here. The men removing the seal would have left DNA, I assume they had an alibi.'

'My man made sure the neighbors saw him and that they knew he was working on the bedroom, he went door to door offering cheap work.'

"Very good indeed almost the perfect crime if it hadn't been for the mother in the way,' Sherlock grinned.

'Mr. Roberts you are a lawyer and though I know there have been scandals in your past they have been no where near this scale. What sort of lawyer has corrupt handymen in his employ? You have seen a fair few criminal cases in your career but none of them have been this carefully planned; you are not intelligent or resourceful enough to have come up with this alone. I only know one man who is and I see his signature all over this but I need to hear the name from you.' Sherlock sneered.

Mr. Robert's face fell.

'If you know why must I say?'

'For the record and for my satisfaction Mr. Roberts; you never know it may reduce the sentence you will receive but I doubt it.'

Mr. Roberts seemed to be having an internal battle with himself but all his defiance had left him.

'Moriarty,' he whispered before bursting into tears.

The name meant nothing to Lexi sitting behind the two-way mirror but the look of triumph on Sherlock's face told her it was significant.

She couldn't help but let her mind wander to how devastatingly handsome Sherlock looked as he toyed with the lawyer. His devilish smile and confidence were disarming and his eyes were breath taking.

She shook those thought from her head as Sherlock exited the interview room and read through her notes.

'You are actually quite adequate at observation,' Sherlock mused before scrunching up the paper and discarding it.

'I have done all I can do from here, I think it is time we return to Baker Street and wait for the new game to begin.'

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**Reviews are really welcome and keep me motivated _ music-loving-penguin xx**


	6. Chapter 6

I am so sorry about the horrendously long time I've taken to update this but I have been so busy with Uni it has been unreal. I also wrote this up ages ago on paper then lost it and I've only just had the time to find it.

music loving penguin

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Sherlock and Lexi returned to the peaceful 221 Baker Street and went into their respective flats. Lexi locked the door to flat C and crashed on her bed, utterly exhausted from her long day. Sherlock however remained awake and agitatedly pacing around flat B. Though he had caught his man he had yet to catch the mastermind behind this and so many other plans. It was the first Moriarty case that he had worked on since the explosion at the swimming pool but he had seen his hand in many cases in the news.

He was still going over his notes on the many cases he suspected his nemesis to have planned when John appeared at eight thirty the next morning.

'What the hell happened last night Sherlock, I heard that Robert Thompson has been arrested on suspicion of conspiring to commit murder.'

'Indeed he has, though I fear the men who put the plan into action are well beyond our reach by now,' Sherlock grunted.

'How can they be, surely he knows where they are or at least who they are.'

'I very much doubt it John, for you see they are in the employ of our dear old friend, James Moriarty.'

At the name John froze and turned to look at his companion's eyes with shock.

'Really John, I'm surprised you did not see it. No mere lawyer, however prestigious could have masterminded this plan. I suspected from the beginning and Thompson confirmed it for me last night.'

John slumped into the nearest armchair and digested this new information. Sherlock gave him an account of the interview that had taken place at the station.

'His body language spoke volumes as I am sure Alexandra will tell you,' Sherlock mused.

'Alexandra..? Lexi!' John cried; 'You tool Lexi with you?'

'Yes, you were with Sarah and I see from the crick in your neck you were yet again unsuccessful in making it into her bed. You have made it very clear that I am no longer allowed to intrude on your dates after the Chinese circus fiasco, which I thought was a success myself.'

'I take it the skull still evades you then.'

Sherlock did not give a clear reply but John did hear him mutter about Florida under his breath.

John left his companion to his notes and retired to the kitchen to make himself and Sherlock a cup of tea, though he knew in all likelihood it would be ignored.

They both heard the scream from downstairs but Sherlock was quicker to react and was at the top of the stairs before John. Sherlock reached the foot of the stairs in time to see Mrs. Hudson emerging from 221 C.

'She's gone,' was all she managed to say before he had pushed past her and into the flat. Most of her possessions were still in boxes and the front room smelt faintly of new paint. He continued on into the bedroom and found it as empty as the rest of the flat.

Lying on the empty bed was a pen, a pen he had seen before and quite recently. It was the pen of Andrew Lloyd. He was examining it closely when John burst into the room.

'Andrew Lloyd's, ' Sherlock stated; 'Something tells me he is no longer with us.'

He rushed past John and the shaken Mrs. Hudson and out onto the street to hail a cab, phone in hand as he frantically text Lestrade.

A reply came seconds later confirming Sherlock's guess.

'Andrew Lloyd found at eight this morning by his secretary dead at his desk,' he relayed back to John.

'Cause of death?'

'Gunshot wound to the temple, right side of the head. Apparently it is suicide as he left a note. Everything to his daughters according to his will, only thing missing…'

'His pen,' John finished.

Sherlock hailed a cab and directed it to Scotland Yard as John clambered in behind him.

'What about Lexi?' John asked.

'I am sure we will find out soon, unless I am mistaken.'

'It was Him, wasn't it?' John sighed.

Sherlock's silence was his only conformation that he received but he was suddenly aware that a whole new game was afoot.

They were quickly shown through to Lestrade's office when they arrived at Scotland Yard.

'What's going on Sherlock, why did you need to come in so desperately?' Lestrade groaned. Sherlock did not answer him but merely held up the pen so the initials were clearly displayed on the cap.

'How the hell did you get that?' screeched Donovan.

'I found it this morning at eight forty five in the bed of Miss Alexandra Taylor of 221C Baker Street where it had been placed. She entered her flat at two o'clock this morning and locked her door. She left no note and nobody heard her leave but her bag and keys were left in the flat.'

Lestrade rocked back in his chair and placed his hands on his head, he had a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

'This is all to do with this Daniels business isn't it, Thompson mentioned Moriarty didn't he?'

The direct line to Lestrade's office began to ring and the flashing orange light showed that it was an external call.

'I'll keep this short as you already know the rules, though the game is a little different this time,' said the trembling voice of Lexi through the handset. 'I've already given you a clue as to where you will find your lead, I'll be generous this time and give you four hours as this one is a little bit tricky.'

The phone cut out and an strange dread fell over the occupants of the office. Sherlock jumped up and after a few seconds deliberation dashed out of the room.

'Where are you off to?' Lestrade shouted out of the door at his retreating back.

Sherlock span around with the exasperated look that he always used when he explained things to the lesser minds around him.

'The pen. It came from Lloyd's office so that must be where the lead is hidden, can't you see that?' he sarcastically sneered.

Sherlock and John arrived at Thompson and Lloyds in a taxi a few minutes before Lestrade and Donovan in the squad car. The four solemly made their way to the lifts, bypassing the security with a wave of Lestrade's badge.

The short lift ride was fraught with tension and John also sensed the expectation radiating from Sherlock. He knew that his companion was relishing the mental challenge that lay ahead of him. He himself was dreading the next few hours at least which would be filled with frantic activity as they tried to save their unwitting flat mate. He also knew that Lexi would be as far from Sherlock's mind as possible and he would be concentrating on the task in hand; making sure that he did not get involved at an emotional level. It made little difference to him who was at the end of the phone; though John did remember that Sherlock had been loathe to see him used as a pawn in Moriarty's game.

Sherlock looked the picture of calm, Lestrade tired and worn whilst Donovan looked angry as usual and kept sending furtive glances towards the consulting detective. John was sure she was going to be the first to burst under the pressure.

'If you hadn't have brought her with you yesterday he wouldn't have used her,' she hissed as the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the luxurious waiting room.

'You may be right Sergeant,' Sherlock conceded; 'However you forget that Moriarty started his last game close to home by blowing up the house opposite mine and also broke into flat 221C. Using Lexi is simply a way of getting my attention.'

'Why did he leave the clue here and not at her apartment then?' John asked the question that had been puzzling him since the phone call.

'He started last time with a case that I had already solved, the Pink Lady. He is repeating the pattern though no doubt there will be some new tricks along the way.'

'He already has by using Lexi, hasn't he?' Lestrade grunted.

'No he used John at the swimming pool. Let us not speculate when there is a clue to be found.'

Sherlock sighed as he ducked under the police tape in the doorway to Lloyd's office. His distraught secretary was being interviewed in the corner and Anderson and his team were trying to ascertain what had happened.

'What's HE doing here at a suicide?' he sneered to Donovan. Sherlock totally ignored him and began poking around on the desk looking for clues.

'All the photos are still on his desk. Everything is still meticulously neat and organised.'

He paced around the room inspecting everything before coming back to rest before the desk. He walked up to the impressive fireplace and looked for places for clues to be hidden. He knelt and looked up the chimney before growling in his throat and stalking into the middle of the room.

'I can't see anything different to when we were here before,' John sighed.

Sherlock took a quick scan of the room and his piercing blue eyes rested on the whimpering secretary.

'Ah Mrs. Matthews isn't it, could you tell me if Mr. Lloyd had a safe located in his office?'

'Why yes, but it is locked and only he knows… knew the combination.'

'It would be most useful if you could tell us the location.'

'Well it's behind the portrait of his daughters opposite his desk.'

Sherlock span around and began examining the portrait in detail, 'Hinges are very well hidden, barely any scratches on the frame or the wall.' He flipped the portrait to reveal the safe behind.

'But you don't know the combination,' she protested as he began twisting the lock on the safe. She continued voicing her complaints to all of the police officers and John until an audible click sounded and the door swung open.

Everyone in the room turned to look at the smug consulting detective.

'As I said Mrs. Matthews, the location was all that I required.'

'That was amazing,' John cried, 'I didn't know you could crack safes.'

'That is one of the many useful skills that I posses and has many applications in my area of work. However, in this case I did not need to, this was the safe of a man ruled by his emotions. There were only three highly probable combinations for this safe.'

'And those were?' John asked.

'The birthday of either his two daughters who he professed to caring deeply about or…'

'Becky Daniels,' John finished.

'Exactly, it was just a matter of working out which one he had chosen.'

'Which was it?' Donovan sneered, but she was ignored as Sherlock had turned his attention to the contents of the safe.

'What are you looking for in there?' Mrs. Matthews demanded. 'Mr Lloyd only keeps documents of the highest importance in there. You have no right to be riffling through there without a warrant.'

Lestrade tried to placate the hysterical woman as Sherlock continued to rummage around.

Sherlock turned and asked, 'Have you ever seen this distinctive pale blue envelope before, Mrs. Matthews?'

'Well no but I am not privy to everything that Mr. Lloyd places in his safe, he kept his confidential documents in there.'

'I understand, however could you explain to me why this envelope addressed to me is located in the safe?'

'I…how..I don't know, nobody but Mr. Lloyd came out of the lift last night onto this floor and I can't ever remember him mentioning you before yesterday.'

'This is our clue then?' Lestrade asked.

Sherlock nodded and picked up an envelope opener and walked up to the window.

'Anything from the envelope?'

'Cheap and nasty, could be made anywhere, most likely America.'

He held it up to the light for a closer examination and then proceeded to open it.

'No!' shouted Lestrade, 'We don't know if there is a bomb, or poison in there. Let us check it out first.'

'We don't have time!' Sherlock cried; 'I only have three hours to solve this or my new neighbor will be murdered by a criminal mastermind.'

Before any other protest could be lodged, he opened the envelope and slipped the contents out into his hand.

'An engagement ring?' Sherlock muttered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again. **

**As seems to be my habit my life explodes around me and I completely forget about writing. I apologise again but the next update should be soo much faster as I am already writing it.**

**All mistakes are my own, including any inaccuracies about the layout of the Abbey. Sorry its a little short. **

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Sherlock stared at the ring intently, holding it up to the light then checking his phone before slipping it back into the envelope and placing it in his pocket. He walked over to Andrew Lloyd's impressive leather office chair, sat down, swung his feet up onto the desk and began to stare at the ceiling.

'What are you doing? You have a case to solve, this is no time to become an interior design expert!' Donovan cried.

'I am solving the case and I would do so considerably faster if you stopped shrieking at me,' Sherlock calmly replied.

He steepled his fingers under his chin and swung back and forth on the chair. John, Lestrade and the indignant Donovan could only watch as his brain ticked away frantically behind his cool facade.

Suddenly Sherlock jumped up and was in the lift before the other had even reacted.

'I do wish he wouldn't do that,' Lestrade sighed before following his eccentric colleague down to the street where he had a cab already waiting.

"Where are we off to this time?' John asked not really expecting an answer that he would understand.

'Church.'

'But there are thousands of churches in London, which specific one Sherlock,' Lestrade growled his patience wearing thin.

'Westminster Abbey.'

"That's hardly what I'd simply refer to as a "church",' Anderson snorted from where he was having a whispered conversation with Donovan.

Sherlock blanked him completely climbing into the taxi and beckoning for John to follow him as he barked instructions to the befuddled driver who was unsure he wanted to pick up a man from a crime scene.

The taxi drive was as usual silent and tense which lead John to wonder what his day would have been like if he had made it into Sarah's bed last night. He had just decided that it would not have been that much different it would have just started with a text from Sherlock when they arrived at the Abbey. He hoped his friend was on the right path as they had already lost another 45 minutes to the London traffic and they only had two hours left.

He expected Sherlock to head straight for the main entrance but instead he circled to the left to a smaller door that was no where near as grand and stood slightly ajar. He stared intently at the door before pushing it open and walking inside. He found two police officers talking to a distressed looking security guard and didn't look at all surprised that they were there.

One of the officers began gearing up for a long speech about how he was walking into an interview of a witness when his colleague elbowed him in the ribs and hissed, "That's THE Sherlock Holmes, that is.'

The guard's face lit up like a Christmas tree when he heard the name.

'I knew they would send you Mr. Holmes to a weird case like this, it's a tricky one. This door alarm was tripped last night and being the senior guard on duty I came to investigate all right a proper but when I got here, and my colleagues will back this up, the door was locked from the inside. We had a look at the CCTV and saw a shifty type walking about and he had scarped once the door alarm went off but the camera was pointing the other way when that happened.'

'The obvious explanation is that nobody broke in rather somebody opened that door last night and locked it again before you got here.'

'A traitor, sir. You are saying it was one of my men what done it.'

'Done what exactly?'

'Weeell we're not entirely sure, nothing is missing or out of place. The door can only have been open for a few seconds otherwise the camera would have caught it.'

'If you could round up the men that were on duty last night it would be greatly appreciated and while you do that I think I will take a look around.'

'I thought I told you he didn't take nothing,' the guard voiced looking at Sherlock suspiciously.

'Ah my good man, I am something of an interior design connoisseur,' he smirked as Donovan and Lestrade walked through the main entrance. 'And you said he didn't take "anything" if he "didn't take nothing" he would have taken something. Would it kill people to speak properly.' He voiced to the world in general as he began peering at the walls.

He began stalking down the aisle closely followed by John.

'What exactly are we looking for?' John muttered.

'Our next clue.'

'How did you get Westminster Abbey from a ring?' spat Donovan but Sherlock ignored her and continued his hunting.

'Is the spot where people get married?' he asked the returning guard followed closely by his men.

'Well yes, but only the royals get married in here really sir.'

'That will do thank you, the wedding that I am thinking of most definitely took place here.'

'Which wedding would that be sir?'

'Prince William's wedding to…'

'Kate Middelton,' John finished for him.

A stunned silence emanated from John, Lestrade and Donovan with the rest of the company looking completely confused. The silence was broken by Donovan, 'The whole world would know if Kate's ring was missing.'

'Would they really? That would show the whole world that they were vulnerable, that they could be accessed and that is hardly something the British Government would wish to advertise. Mycroft nearly had a fit when I asked him about it, he even forgot himself enough to text me.'

'How on earth do you know that that is her ring?' Lestrade cried.

'I remember Mrs. Hudson was cooing over it in one of her tacky magazines. That and the royal seal of the House of Windsor on the band. Most people would dismiss it for a hallmark. It is far too well made for a forgery and the price that was reported in what passes as newspapers in Britain was greatly underestimated, which is a surprise as they are usually so accurate.'

His sly grin did nothing to dispel the shocked silence so he continued his search in silence as they digested what he had just told them. He desperately wanted to find the clue that would lead him to his new neighbor. His new vaguely interesting, intelligent, attractive neighbor an underused part of his brain interjected into his logical train of thought. He pushed the unwanted thoughts aside but not before his mind conjured a picture of Lexi's huge hazel eyes, terrified and pleading. This stopped him in his tracks and he had to mentally shake himself before he continued.

He paced around in circles looking for anything out of the ordinary but nothing caught his eye. He stood where the bride would have stood on the most important day of her life. He wanted so desperately to continue the game and rescue Lexi, this looking was pathetic and Moriarty had broken the pattern.

His eyes alighted on the small compartments at the end of the pew that were used to store hymn books or some such thing. He bounded over to the closest one and wrenched it open – and inside he found a pale green envelope.

"Same type as before and yet again addressed to me – I think this is what I was looking for.'

As if on queue his phone began to buzz in his pocket.

'Well done you have worked fast, only three hours. Did you like my little treasure hunt twist, I think this one is worth something to you so I thought it would be appropriate. This time you have two hours…' the fear chocked voice of Lexi filtered through the phone before it was abruptly cut off.

'Three Hours' Sherlock voiced aloud.

A door banged behind them and all their heads shot up to look at it.

'Where has the young, nervous fellow on the end gone?' John cried and surely they were a security guard down.

'After him!' Sherlock cried at the two uniforms. 'He is an accomplice to kidnap and maybe even murder!'

After they had run off he muttered not quite under his breath, 'Exemplary work as usual from the Metropolitan Police Force.'

He stalked away from the confusion that his revelations and the flight of the guard had caused. He ripped open the envelope to reveal a photo of a young red headed woman lying dead in the street. He left the Abbey quickly and hailed a cab whilst John caught up with him. Once inside he directed it back to Scotland Yard.

The awkward journey John was expecting was not forthcoming as Sherlock turned to him and handed him the photograph.

'You're a doctor, what do you make of those head wounds?'

'Nasty. Blunt force trauma to the forehead, looks like the skull has been forced inwards. Where was this taken?'

'Not sure exactly but definitely in Soho judging by the bricks behind her and the paving stones. It was taken on the same night as the Daniels were murdered though, it had rained before that photo was taken and that was the last time it rained.'

'Why take it though? Surely not just for our benefit?'

'Moriarty wanted to scare someone by killing someone close to them to make sure they had got the message.'

After a few minutes of brooding silence Sherlock called out to the cabbie, I've changed my mind take us to St. Thomas''

Once they arrived at the hospital Sherlock headed straight down the stairs to the Morgue to the surprise of Molly.

'Back already?'

'Show me this woman and tell me what you know about her,' Sherlock commanded without even a greeting.

'Well obviously she's female, twenty three to five, blunt force trauma to the head. They brought her in just after you left yesterday. Found dead in Soho. She appeared to be an escort and one of her clients didn't fancy paying his bill. Police are chasing up the numbers in her phone now.'

'High class?'

'Very judging by the clothes that she was wearing. Nice jewelry – I…I'm surprised that wasn't taken' she stammered.

'Exactly. If it was someone dodging his bill he would have taken it, or if it was a mugging gone wrong same. This was a professional hit.'

'She have a name?' John asked.

'Kitty something or other, but I guess that was only an act.'

Sherlock ignored all of this and was bust examining the tattoo on the woman's left hip and her jewelry.

'That will be all thank you Molly,' he purred accompanying it with his devilish smile.

Before Molly could stammer a response he was through the door, his coat billowing out behind him. John smiled weakly at the crestfallen Molly before following Sherlock out of the hospital and into the waiting cab. He wasn't even acknowledged by his companion whose brain was ticking frantically away.


	8. Chapter 8

**As usual none of the characters are my own only borrowed** **and all errors are my own**

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When they pulled up outside a night club John was immensely confused. Though it was still early the crowds were gathering, jostling to be allowed inside. Sherlock jumped out of the cab and began pushing his way to the front of the queue with John close behind him. It was too loud for John to hear what Sherlock whispered to the bouncer but he did see him be manhandled into the club by the men working the door. He pushed his way forward but could not convince the solidly stubborn bouncer to let him in after his friend.

'Oh great, I'll just stand out here. Feeling useless,' he cried in frustration.

Sherlock was forced roughly into a chair in the office upstairs.

'Who are you to come to my club and start asking questions of me?' a broad, bored man leaning over the edge of the desk questioned him.

'I, Antonio am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. I have come across your name a lot in my line of work though fortunately for you not directly linked to any of my cases. I must say you have built up quite an empire; drugs, prostitution, protection and of course your salubrious establishment. But my, you have been careless haven't you, getting in trouble with the real big boys who you had no hope of competing with.'

'I CAN compete! I am competing and I assure you Mr. Holmes I am winning little battles everywhere.'

'Well obviously not otherwise one of your girls wouldn't have end up dead on the cobbles in Soho.'

''Ere, how does he know that?' shouted one of the intimidating muscle men lounging at the back of the room.

'How MANY times do I have to tell you! DON'T give anything away,' shouted the exasperated gang leader.

'I shall of course inform you my friends how I know about unfortunate Kitty Devure. She was found dead on the cobbles in Soho a few nights ago. She had your mark tattooed on her hip, so definitely one of your girls. Nothing was taken from the body so not a random killing – a professional hit. Judging by the lack of shock on your face you knew all of this already so you have been sent the photograph that I received earlier this evening. Who sent you the photograph Antonio?'

The men around him bristled and twitched, anxious and unsettled by this man who knew so much.

'We tell him NOTHING, you got that boys. Nothing,' Antonio growled.

'I would be most appreciative gentleman as this would prevent my friend meeting a similar fate to poor Kitty and of course bring the man that killed her to justice.'

'We don't do your kind of justice!'

Sherlock smirked, 'Ah yes, you want your kind of justice where the bodies pile up around you as you kill each other off until nobody is left. I assume though, that you have heard of a man named Moriarty.'

'M…M…Moriarty,' stammered the beleaguered Antonio, 'He's a myth ain't he?'

'No. He is most definitely real. He is the one who has helped whoever killed poor Kitty so I wouldn't mess with them if I was you.'

'How do we know you are telling the truth?' whispered one of the thugs.

'I wouldn't lie about Moriarty, he is the single most powerful criminal in Western Europe, maybe even the world if his contacts are anything to go by. Now, tell me who sent you the photograph?'

'Won't the Murriarty bloke be a bit pissed off if we rat out the people 'e's 'elpin?' a different faceless gang member grunted.

'He is the one that sent me the photograph as part of a game he is playing. He is willing to cut off all ties with these people for the sake of a game. If you tell me who they are he will have to forsake them to save his empire.'

'So he is willing to sell out his associates for the sake of pissing off some knobby detective?'

'To put it bluntly, yes.'

'Sounds like my kind of bloke,' Antonio laughed.

'I assure you he is not. He is what the big boys aspire to be but are no where near intelligent enough to become and as I have previously stated you aren't even one of the big boys.'

'Do you think insulting me is going to make me help you?'

'No but I think that blackmail might make you listen.'

'Your in a room full of my boys, you wouldn't make it out alive.'

'Ah but you see, I think that you should let me go. My associate has strict instruction to pass on the rather substantial file I have accumulated on you to Inspector Lestrade if I do not leave this club unharmed in about twenty minutes.'

'You don't' have anything on me, you're lying!'

'Fifteen counts of fraud, one pitifully executed heist, seventeen counts of robbery, too many GBHs to count, money laundering, forgery, drugs, prostitution rings, one case of human trafficking, racketeering and three murders.'

In the silence that followed Sherlock carefully listened to the shifting of the men behind him, making a mental note of where each man had positioned himself.

'The Davies brothers, they sent me the picture with a lock of Melissa's.. I mean Kitty's hair. One of my best girls gone all over a dodgy batch of E,' moaned Antonio.

'Thank you Antonio, it is much appreciated and I shall make sure that the information that I informed you of never makes it's way into the hands of the police. However I should let you know that I have many systems set up to make sure all of my files make it to the police in the case of any misfortune happening to me.'

As Sherlock brushed past the startled muscle men, calculating how long it would before Antonio was floating down the Thames having been put there by his disenchanted men. Soon, he decided. Very soon.

Back outside he was reunited with a very annoyed John who had not been appreciated standing outside a dodgy nightclub not knowing what the hell was going on. Sherlock ignored his ranting as he punched frantically at his phone whilst hailing a cab. Once they were inside and had pulled off his phone buzzed.

"Close, but not quite."

'Damn him,' Sherlock exclaimed, 'He wants the exact killer.'

He punched his phone again, dialing Lestrade's number.

'What do you know of the Davies brothers, quickly.'

'What? Where are you? Have you solved it?'

'DAVIES BROTHERS, who's their hitman? Quickly.'

'They're the new kids on the block but they've hit the big time fast- hit man of choice? Give me a minute and I will go talk to organised crime.'

'A minute is all that you've got!'

'You're asking Lestrade for help?' John questioned, the shock evident on his face.

'The Davies brothers are new, moved over from Cardiff and have made a big name for themselves. I have had so many cases that I haven't been able to look them up. They've carries out a few hits, all of them clean but personal – just like Kitty – he makes his victims look him in the eye as he kills them.'

'Sounds like a nice guy,' John deadpanned.

'He is, compared to some of the professionals out there.'

His phone buzzed again and he pounced on him frantically.

'Known as Dai Death, real name David Johnson from Port Talbot. Got pulled up for a petty theft a few years back, his fingerprints and DNA found at hits associated with the Davies.'

'All I needed, though it took you long enough. What an unimaginative name.' Sherlock cried triumphantly.

He punched the name into his phone and waited for a response, the phone clenched in his fist.

"Congratulations."

'Is that all?' John wailed in despair.

'He's waiting for something.'

They pulled up outside Scotland Yard and made their way to Lestrade's office.

'What the hell has happened, why did you need to know about that gang?' the fraught Inspector cried as they walked through the door.

'The photo was one of Antonio's girls, he's in the middle of a drug dispute with the Davies at the moment. They claimed the hit for themselves. Moriarty wanted the killers name.'

'Guess his involvement explains their rapid rise to infamy,' Lestrade sighed.

'So all we have to do know is wait.'

It was an hour before Sherlock's phone vibrated on the table.

'Hello again, we have to stop meeting like this,' Lexi cried down the phone. 'I can see you're getting back into the swing of things. Now this one is a bit more difficult so I'm going to give you five hours.'

The phone cut out and immediately buzzed again signifying a message. It was a photograph of an empty jewelry case, generic and unassuming.

'That's going to be hard,' John sighed looking over Sherlock's shoulder at the phone screen.

'From the size it could be a bracelet or a necklace,' Lestrade huffed. 'It's not a lot to go on.'

'Please stop pointing out the obvious and let me think!' Sherlock yelled, his anger getting the better of him.

'An unassuming box does not mean that the missing piece is unassuming. Lestrade, go check all jewelry thefts in the last three weeks. John, look up the obituaries of wealthy individuals that have died recently.'

'Why?' Donovan snorted.

'Look at the box, it's nothing particularly special but it isn't new either. Judging by the velvet's quality I would say that it is at least one hundred years old.'

'It just looks cheap to me,' she cried. 'How could you possibly get that from a photograph?'

'Experience.'

Sherlock sat at John's desk in amongst the chaos, studying the picture and occasionally dismissing the reports that were brought to him about stolen jewelry.

About an hour in John poked his head through the door and handed Sherlock a newspaper article.

'"Missing Inheritance: How a family curse robbed me of my birth rite." It's not much but it's about a missing necklace. It was a follow up I ran on an interesting looking obituary.'

"The story of Mrs. Jennifer Snow and how her families murky past has deprived her of a century old family heirloom." Sherlock read aloud.

He focused on a paragraph that had been highlighted by John.

"When the bank manager opened the safety deposit box it was empty apart from a lady's lace handkerchief and I knew it was because of the curse."

'Ah, Mrs. Snow. My name is Mr. Holmes and I'm here to talk to you about your chilling story. I believe you spoke to my assistant Mr. Watson on the phone earlier.'

'Ah yes, do come in. I'll be happy to tell you all about it but I will have to be quick. My husband will be home soon and he thinks I'm crazy believing in curses but he's a grumpy old sod who only believes in what he calls "facts",' a well dressed, middle aged, mousy woman babbled away.

Sherlock repressed his sarcastic jibes, put on his best smile and proceeded to interview Jennifer about the mysteriously missing necklace.

'Well you see Mr. Holmes my family were big investors in the tin industry, big business and they made an awful lot of money out if it. Well my great, great grandfather was engaged to be wed to a Miss Lucy Spencer, the eldest daughter in an up and coming coal mining family. Well that all fell apart when he went up to London and met Miss Amy Timpson, daughter of a big city lawyer. Well her father was much richer and higher up the social ladder than Mr. Spencer so he engineered an engagement to her instead. What he didn't know was that Lucy's mother was a witch and on the day of their wedding she put a curse on the newly married couple and all their offspring. Of course, it wasn't that powerful as her magical blood was very watered down but strange little things have been happening to my family ever since.'

'I see, what a truly fascinating story. Now onto the necklace…'

'Ah yes, that was the necklace worn by Amy Timpson on her wedding day. It has been passed down through the female line for the past hundred years. Only by blood though, not by marriage. Well when my brother and I went to the bank to open up out mother's safety deposit box and retrieve it after her death, well… it wasn't there.'

'What was there?'

'A ladies lace handkerchief, Mr. Holmes, with the initials SH embroidered on it.'

'One final question, your elder brother wasn't it? Is he married?'

'Yes he's ten years my senior and yes he is married. They have been so supportive through all this, the loss of my dear mother and then my legacy being taken from me. Especially with the attitude of people these days, calling me simple, saying it was a crime. How could it be a crime, the law doesn't cover supernatural phenomenon!'

'Thank you Mrs. Snow that will be all for now but I am sure that I will be in touch shortly.'

'Is…is that it? All you need?'

'I need to pitch the story to my editor but I'm sure she will love it. I will get Watson to ring you and organise a time when the full interveiw can be recorded. If I need any additional information for the pitch I will be in touch shortly, thank you so very much.'

'Oh Mr Holmes, I do so hope you get the answer that we both want.'

'So do I Mrs. Snow,' Sherlock beamed though his thoughts were as far from newspaper articles as they could be; they were with a poor girl, scared and alone all because of him.

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**All reviews are appreciated **


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